CREATURE

・chapter 38・

On some level, Asya knew it was her last day in Cornwall. Knew that tomorrow a big city filled with lights and problems were waiting for her, that she'd be starting physiotherapy and rehabilitation, all while watching the rest of the company prepare for Bayadère from the sidelines. And that she'd probably face some consequences, either real or self-imposed, for running away with Roman Zharnov over Christmas break.

Without realizing it at the time, there were so many other lasts haunting that final day by the coast. A last morning waking up to frost and fog, a last trudge through the snow on the lawn, a last afternoon with nothing to do but kill time. They didn't feel like lasts, they felt like they could stretch into forever, could somehow keep tomorrow from arriving at all.

They'd returned from the beach in the early afternoon, frozen solid, stumbling through the front door in a huddle of clattering teeth and shivering. To his credit, Roman hadn't let her freeze to death, and he hadn't brought up their conversation by the lake either. But before she could take to the stairs and plant herself firmly in the nearest hot bath she ran into Miranda, who was utterly disgusted at her nephew's definition of sightseeing. She said something about him being a sick little sadist and promised Asya a warm cup of coffee once she had on some dry clothes.

The rest of the day had been spent soaking in steam and bubbles, and come nighttime, Miranda's long-awaited Christmas dinner managed to rouse even her regulated appetite. The past few days had been so good for getting some food in her, and she surprised even herself when she managed to get in a decent amount of turkey, potatoes, and pastries. Even though the meal was measured and still probably too small, she hadn't thrown any of it up. And that had to count for something.

As the evening drew to a close, they were lounging around the livingroom to soak up the warmth of the fireplace. Miranda had taken over a worktable at the far end of the room to sort through the photographs she'd developed from their session the day before, shunning away any curious glimpses with a promise that she'd have them ready by morning. The young ballerina had seated herself on the couch, kicking off her shoes to draw her legs in under herself, which Putkins took as his invitation to set up camp in her lap. That might have been a deliberate attempt to attract a glare from Roman.

Tanya, back in her favorite Grinch pyjama set, was sitting on the couch opposite her under the arm of her brother. They were laughing at the dogs, who were arguably having the most fun out of everyone given the sea of wrapping paper and ribbon that was strewn on the floor. Her brother listened attentively as she explained something in Russian, interjecting with what sounded like a question before he let her finish.

'Your accent is getting better.' Miranda remarked from the table behind them, raising her eyebrows at her nephew over her tortoiseshell glasses.

She'd never really thought much of it before, but Roman did have a hint of an accent. More than a hint, actually, she realized as he replied to his aunt's compliment. His voice was buttery and thick, some of his vowels came out harsher while the syllables got clipped, and, she realised with a small private grin, he still rolled his Russian r. Not quite a thick, hard Russian accent, but an accent nonetheless. She didn't know why he'd want to lose it though, it was nice.

'Do you speak any Russian, Asya?' Miranda asked.

She shook her head, feeling Roman's eyes drift to her. 'We moved around a lot.' she replied, adding a pause before she said, 'For my training.'

It was true. Although they spent most of her childhood in a townhouse in Zurich, her mother had moved them around a lot. Across countries, continents and oceans, seeking out the best ballet training the world's major cities had to offer. They visited the family estate during the Russian summer every year, but even then no one ever bothered to teach her more than greetings and thank-yous, all of which she was certain she'd butcher.